


A Study in Hot Cocoa

by sleeepyowl



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 25 Days of Fic, 25 Days of Fic-mas, Christmas, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Ficlet, First Kiss, Fluff, Holidays, Hot Chocolate, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 17:30:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5342483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeepyowl/pseuds/sleeepyowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John have a little domestic. They each find their own way to apologise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Hot Cocoa

**Author's Note:**

> My own take on the hot cocoa prompt for the 25 days of fic-mas. Not sure if I'll be writing any more of these prompts, but the idea just came into my head and I had to write at least this one. It's very ridiculous and fluffy. Enjoy. :)

     John needed air. Sometimes, he cursed at his own anger that could so quickly fire through his heart and straight into his gut, even surprising himself with the intensity. He needed to get out of the flat, but the moment he slammed the door to 221B, he instantly regretted his decision.

     John had left Sherlock standing bewildered next to the fireplace. As he walked down to the end of Baker Street, he barely noticed the snow beginning to swirl around him and dance in the streetlights. His breath came out in short little puffs and he slowly unclenched his fists at his sides. John forgot to bring his scarf and he was regretting that decision as well.

     It all came down to the fact that Sherlock Holmes drove John Watson absolutely mad. It was the accumulation of small things, like the lack of privacy, for instance. Sherlock seemed to have no respect for John’s things like his laptop or his phone. He couldn’t even take a bloody shower without Sherlock practically barging in and asking for something. John knew he couldn’t hide any secrets from the detective and his annoyance was becoming all-consuming since he moved back in (after the Mary incident) a few months ago. John could hardly admit to himself that he knew he couldn’t hide the biggest secret of all for much longer. Sooner or later, Sherlock would find out the way that John felt about him. And that would be the end of it.

     John picked up his pace, the snowfall now crunching violently underfoot with each stomp. The constant experiments in the kitchen, the dirty dishes, the lack of dusting….

            His phone chimed.

            _Where are you? SH_

            _Out,_ replied John.

            _Whatever I did to disturb you, please forgive me. SH_

John didn’t respond. His phone beeped again.

_I promise I won’t leave laundry on the couch again. SH_

_Come home. SH_

     John sighed and stopped walking. His fingers were numb.

     In front of the fire place was much too warm and the only light in the flat came from the gentle embers and the warm glow from the string of Christmas lights that Mrs Hudson had put up earlier that day. They were standing too close to each other; John could smell Sherlock’s crisp aftershave and it made him dizzy. He saw that the collar on Sherlock’s shirt was rumpled slightly and it was so endearing and yet so damn annoying that John just wanted to reach out and fix it. Sherlock was talking to him but he was so engrossed in that spot right above his flatmate’s collarbone that he wasn’t paying attention.

            “John, are you even listening to me?”

            John quickly looked up at the detective. “I’m listening,” he said, avoiding Sherlock’s questioning gaze.

            “I said, I need you to stay out of my closet. I know you were in there earlier.”

            “What?” snapped John. “The only reason I went in was to put away _your_ laundry that _you_ left on the couch. You go through my things—"

            “But this is actually important. It’s not like your things are actually important—“

            “Oh, sod off, Sherlock!”

     The heat, the intensity of Sherlock’s gaze, and John’s sudden anger was too much. He grabbed his coat and left.

     Now, John Watson standing on a street corner in the cold December snow, feeling terrible. He knew he overreacted. It never used to bother him before when Sherlock would say things like that, but now, it actually hurt to hear Sherlock say that his things weren’t important. It was the lack of respect. It was almost as if Sherlock was implying that John wasn’t important.

     As he made his way back to 221B, John stopped at the Tesco around the corner. He wanted to find a peace offering.

     He went in with the intention of buying some more tea, since they ran out that morning. And perhaps a nicer quality pot of honey to go with, because he knew Sherlock could appreciate something like that.  But as John approached the tea isle, he saw the bright purple cylinder of Cadbury’s Drinking Chocolate and he was hit with a wave of nostalgia; it was the holidays after all.

     John let himself back into the flat. The fireplace had been extinguished and the embers were glowing. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, but John knew that he was having a sulk in his bedroom.

     He tiptoed into the kitchen, got out two mugs from the cupboard, and quickly made the hot cocoa. The doctor awkwardly balanced the cups as he made his way to Sherlock’s bedroom.

     He knocked hesitantly on the door. “Sherlock?”

     There was no response.

            “Sherlock?”

            Still silence. “Alight then, I’m coming in,” said John. As he opened the door, he saw Sherlock propped up in bed wearing an old t-shirt and his maroon dressing gown. He had John’s laptop balanced on his knees and was rapidly typing.

            “Oi,” said John. “Jesus, Sherlock.”

            Without looking at John, Sherlock snapped the laptop closed and pushed it under his bed. "It was more conveniently located than mine. I'm sorry." 

           John sighed and stepped forward into the room. “Here, I made you this.”

            Sherlock frowned and didn’t take the cup. “What is it?”

            “Hot chocolate. It’s erm… sort of an apology for earlier.” John pushed the cup into Sherlock’s hands. “I put some honey in it, because that’s how I know you like it.”

            Sherlock brought the cup to his lips and took a sip. “Sussex. Wildflower honey, from spring of this past year. I’m working on an entry on how to identify at least three hundred and twenty-six different types of honey by taste alone.”

            John was still standing awkwardly next to Sherlock’s bed. He set his mug down on the nightstand. “Right, listen,” began John. “I’m sorry I went into your closet—“

            “John,” said Sherlock softly. “Sit down.”

            John perched himself at the side of Sherlock’s bed. His hand accidentally brushed up against the detective’s thigh and John began to stutter, “I-I didn’t mean-“

            Sherlock took a giant gulp from his cup. John broke off mid-sentence to stare at the chocolate mustache that Sherlock was now sporting.

            With sudden boldness, Sherlock reached out and took his hand. “John, the only reason why I don’t want you going into my closet is because I have Christmas gifts in there for you. And I don’t want to spoil it this year. It’s not that your things are unimportant; I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant that you’re extremely important to me and I want to give you a big surprise, especially after the year we've had.“

            John’s mind went into overdrive. Sherlock was holding his hand. Apparently, John was extremely important to him. Sherlock had chocolate on his face, and they were inches apart. He didn’t think about what he said next.

            “Sherlock Holmes, I desperately need to kiss you.”

            Sherlock faltered, and his eyes went wide. And within a split second of determination, Sherlock closed the gap between him and John, taking them both by surprise. Sherlock tasted like chocolate and honey and warmth. John felt the tension within him snap; everything felt just right.

            John pulled away for a moment and rested his forehead against Sherlock’s. “I’ve been a complete and utter git. Forgive me,” he breathed.

            “Nonsense, John, you’re delightful. There is nothing to forgive.” And Sherlock kissed him again.


End file.
